


What Are Friends For?

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: G - White Cortina, Hurt/Comfort, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-05
Updated: 2009-01-05
Packaged: 2019-01-20 17:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Sam and Gene have a heart-to-heart, Sam and Gene style.





	What Are Friends For?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** For the 2007 Martian Holiday Fic Exchange. The prompts were: Sam and Gene. Het or Gen. Angst and/or UST for preference. Dialogue: "So, does that make you a friend of Dorothy?" With many thanks to Fi for the beta and now rather damp shoulder.

It started out as it often did, with a few pints down the Railway Arms after work and a conversation that was obviously far too important to quit mid-flow.

 

 

_"Admit it, Gladys, Denis Law is the best footballer in the world."_

_"Not six months ago, Guv, you were explaining to me how he couldn't kick a ball six feet."_

_"Well, six months ago he was United scum. Now he's Blue."_

_"Surely you mean that six months ago he was playing for a good team and now he's City scum."_

_Gene clapped a broad hand hard on Sam's back. "For that you're buying me dinner. Come on Tyler, there's a dodgy curry out there with my name on it."_

 

 

Now, half an hour later, courtesy of a rather improbable chain of events involving a goat, a snapped fan-belt and a rather sticky little boy by the name of Jason, Sam found himself standing in Gene's front room while Gene himself changed his shirt upstairs.

 

 

Sam had never been inside Gene's house before, but it was exactly how he had imagined it would be. Hideous seventies wallpaper and furniture, ancient gas fire (well, _modern_ by the day's standards) and charming knick-knacks on the mantelpiece. The only real nod to the current festive season was a couple of cards precariously perched between the cute china dogs and glass candlesticks. But it was the seventies and this was the home of a childless couple. No need to decorate or put up a tree for a couple of weeks yet. 

 

 

A few books on a bookshelf to one side of the fireplace drew Sam's eye and, curiosity getting the better of him, Sam crossed over to get a better look. There seemed to be a full set of Reader's Digest Condensed Books, all in pristine condition, as if they were for show rather than for actual reading. Not all the books were so, though. Tucked between two volumes was a small card folder.

 

 

Sam drew it out carefully and opened it. It was a photograph in a card – a publicity shot of Judy Garland in her most famous role. It was signed, quite simply, "To Eugene, from Judy".

 

 

Sam smiled to himself and closed the card carefully, intending to slide back between the books when Gene's voice startled him.

 

 

"So, tell me more about the wonder that is…"

 

 

Sam looked up as Gene broke off. Gene was standing stock-still, hands paused in buttoning up his shirt.

 

 

Sam attempted a smile, but it felt very artificial. "So, does this make you a friend of Dorothy then?" he said, indicating to the small card still his hand.

 

 

Gene crossed the room in a couple of easy strides, all but snatching the card out of Sam's hand and slotting it back into its place on the bookcase. "Present from the missus. Was a joke. That's all," he said and then went quiet.

 

 

Sam waited a moment before speaking again, trying to fill the suddenly uncomfortable silence, something he didn't normally associate with his and Gene's rather thorny friendship. "I'm sorry…"

 

 

Gene's voice cut across him and Sam stumbled into silence. "She hasn't left me, you know."

 

 

Sam frowned. "Who?"

 

 

Gene looked around the room, avoiding looking directly at Sam. "The missus. She hasn't left me. Despite whatever rumours are currently flying round the station. She's visiting her mother up Chorley way, that's all."

 

 

Sam hadn’t heard any such rumours. "How long has she been gone?" he asked in as casual manner as he could manage. 

 

 

Gene stared at a point on the mantelpiece just to the right of Sam's head. "Three weeks. It's… it's a terrible time of year for an old woman on her own. I would be with her, but, you know, tide and crime wait for no man."

 

 

Sam nodded sympathetically, attempting to traverse this sudden minefield of treacherous emotions. "It's hard, I know. So when will she be back?"

 

 

Gene finally met Sam's gaze and to Sam's growing horror looked almost broken. "Not sure," he admitted in a small voice. "When she's ready. Probably not this side of Christmas."

 

 

"Well," Sam said in a light tone of voice he was struggling to maintain, "If you're stuck for anything to do on Christmas Day, there's always a bottle of whisky with your name on it over at my place. And you know how quiet the station gets – I'll even knock something up for dinner if we're not working."

 

 

With visible effort, Gene matched Sam's tone. Rolling his eyes, he said, "May the criminals of Manchester spare me from your poncy cooking." 

 

 

Sam acknowledged the unspoken thanks with a quick bob of his head and quickly changed the subject. "So, we heading out for a curry then?"

 

 

Gene finished buttoning up his shirt and grabbed his coat from the back of the settee. "I believe you muttered something about it being your treat earlier, Gladys."

 

 

_the end_


End file.
